Kids

The Great Imitator

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Be it a brayer I've abandoned for a brush as I work on a piece, or my favorite matte purple lipstick ("Shameless" by Revlon), this one is mastering the art of imitation at age two. He's my constant companion in the studio, quietly underfoot, his little hands searching blindly along the edges of my work tables for something to grasp while I work. Nothing is safe or off limits no matter how far I think I'm moving it beyond his reach-he finds a way to deftly, and swiftly get paint, brushes, spray bottle, brayer, palette knife, paper towels, water in his hands when my focus is elsewhere. I've begrudgingly begun to accept that if he's awake, there is no working in the studio without him next to, behind, or underneath me silently watching or working just as diligently as I am. He watches, then imitates both in the studio and around the house, spraying the walls, couch or television with water from my spray bottle he grabbed off my table or tagging his brand new shirt or wall with my lipstick. 

... 

His brothers enjoy drawing and sometimes playing in paint (Alex always always always uses a brush, no fingers, because tactile aversion), but he's the first of my children to show such an affinity for it...an intense focus on it, which intrigues me as I watch him.

Hmmm.

Come to think of it, I painted quite a bit while he grew in my belly those nine months. A lot, actually. Maybe that's why it seems so flow out of him so effortlessly, in a way that it doesn't with them. He studies my movements and attempts to replicate them on his own. I've often looked down to see him foam brush or brayer in hand, quietly painting a corner of a piece in progress, mimicking my movements and strokes with whatever tool I'm using.  

 ....

I think it's time to get him his own easel, brushes, apron, and paper. Perhaps his own brayer as well-that seems to be his favorite, which has me smiling as I type this because it's mine as well. 

Sigh. 

This kid. 

Oh you beautiful, mischievous, joyful, getting into all the things all the time boy. 

What an explosive and intricate work of art you are.  

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A Parking Lot Conversation

Scene: Target parking lot. 

Me: "OH- look at that mama with her baby-isn't that baby adorable?!"

Alex: "He is-look at his wittle face and baby toes! Baby toes! Mommie, we need to get that baby one day."

Me: "Uh, no, we can't just take other people's babies, sir. We can adopt a baby that needs a family, but we can't just go GET one that isn't ours."

Brennan: "Yeah, Alex, if we didn't adopt one, Mom would have to MAKE a baby, which is kinda gross-have you seen what babies look like when they come out? There's blood, and mucous, and a woman's insides all over it, because it was INSIDE of her. Like next to her ORGANS. It's so gross, but once you clean them up, and they lose the peeling skin, they're cute. Loud but cute."

Alex: "WHAT?! I don't want a poo-poo baby!"

Me: "Who said anything about poop?!"

Austin: *unleashes blood curdling scream, once again cementing his position as The Baby in the family and the last to ever come from THIS body*

End scene